Daughter of Darkness (21 page)

‘Tell the officer exactly how it happened, Biggs?’ Still angry from his encounter with Squire Tupworthy, Gerard’s voice was terse as he bade his gatekeeper speak. ‘Damn it all man, it happened just outside the gate. You must have seen something.’

‘It’s a bit hard to explain, My Lord.’ A worried frown divided Biggs forehead and he chewed nervously on a straw clutched between his teeth.

‘The squire arrived unannounced, and demanded to see the earl,’ Gerard prompted impatiently.

That much was the truth. A footman requested the man’s card and the squire had become belligerent. Striding from the study, Gerard had advised Tupworthy to depart. The squire had verbally insulted him. When he persisted in his quest to see the earl, Gerard had called some footmen to eject the man before he succumbed to the temptation to run him through.

‘That he did, My Lord,’ the gate-man answered. ‘He seemed to be in his cups, and was shouting something about farming systems when he came back.’ Biggs gazed at the sky. ‘He was uncomplimentary about Lady Sommersley.’

Gerard’s ire rose at the thought. ‘Exactly what did he say?’

‘I’d rather not repeat it, sir.’

‘Come, man, you needn’t be afraid.’ His cane tapped impatiently against the side of his boot. ‘The man is dead. I’ll not hold you accountable for another’s remark.’

‘And I’ll not repeat an ill word spoken against the mistress in company,’ Biggs said doggedly, his eyes sliding towards Anthony Dowling, who obligingly walked out of earshot.

‘Well, man?’

Biggs’s cheeks turned a dull red. ‘He said the mistress be tainted by the Lynchcross blood. He said the Givanchy curse applied to her too, and she’ll most likely prove to be barren. I was tempted to close his foul mouth with my fist. A finer lady— ‘

‘That will do, Biggs.’ He squashed the spurt of anger Biggs words brought, but was tight lipped when he beckoned Anthony Dowling back. ‘Tell Captain Dowling how the squire’s accident occur?’

Biggs suddenly paled. ‘A raven flew at the horse and startled it. It reared, and the squire was unseated. His neck fell across that boulder over there. I hears a crack, and he just went limp.’

They all gazed at the body of lying huddled under his cloak.

‘The raven flew off towards the stables,’ Biggs offered, looking fearfully about him. ‘Some say the raven is a bringer of evil. It were seen in the village just before that man drowned.’

Gerard patted Biggs’ shoulder. ‘Talk of supernatural intervention is both tedious and dangerous. Just two days ago, Captain Dowling and I were forced to visit Sheronwood on such rumor. I’ll tell you, Biggs, the rumors of supernatural events were totally without foundation. The house was undisturbed and there was not an apparition in sight. You understand what I’m saying?’

‘Yes, My Lord.’ Biggs wondered if he should tell the viscount what he’d heard about the children at Sheronwood.

‘Good, man.’ The viscount flipped him a coin. ‘I know I can rely on you to keep your mouth shut. The cart should be here to take the body back to the Manor House, shortly. The rider I sent spoke to the preacher who’s staying there. He’s taken it upon himself to inform and comfort Mrs. Tupworthy.’

Biggs shrugged as Gerard turned back towards the house. If the viscount had been to Sheronwood and found nothing, why should he risk a reprimand by repeating what the Sheronwood servant had told him? It had obviously been all lies.

The raven was huddled with the rooks amongst the trees when the riders passed below. It didn’t belong to the rookery, and the smaller birds grumbled uneasily amongst themselves. Suddenly, it gave a harsh caw and flew up into the air. Startled, the rooks rose and flew in a noisy circle. When they settled the outsider had gone.

High in the sky, the raven followed the three riders, coming to rest on the warm brick chimney stack of a cottage on the outskirts of the village.Inside the cottage, Annie Tupworthy was doubled up in agony. Her membrane had broken twenty minutes earlier, and her labour commenced straight away. The birth was almost imminent. She gazed at Sapphire in mute appeal as she came through the door.

‘My dear woman!’ Taking one look at her, Sapphire turned to her maid. ‘Quickly, Bella. Help her to the bed and loosen her clothing, then see if you can find some clean rags. Her baby seems to be in somewhat of a hurry.’ She gazed over her shoulder at Brian, who hovered awkwardly just inside the door. ‘This is no place for a man. Make haste to the Manor House and fetch a carriage.’

‘Shall I inform the squire, Lady?’

She hesitated, presentiment settling round her shoulders like a dark shroud. Evil was abroad. ‘He’ll not be there. Bring a lady’s maid and the children’s nurse. Tell the nurse to bring swaddling clothes for the infant and a blanket to wrap him in.’

‘Him?’ Annie clutched Sapphire’s wrist. ‘My child will be a boy?’

‘Yes, my dear,’ she said soothingly, whilst she drew aside the woman’s skirts and prepared her for the birthing. ‘He’ll be strong of limb and clever of mind, and will have the look of your father.’

‘He’ll not have a nature like his own father?’ Annie shuddered as a spasm of pain gripped her. ‘I’d not have him inflicted thus.’

‘I promise you a son you’ll be proud of. When he’s a man he’ll distinguish himself in the service of the king, and will achieve high rank and estate. This, I know.’

Perspiration beaded Annie’s the face as Sapphire removed her veil. Observing the bruises on the woman’s legs, it was hard to hide her pity and anger. There was one consolation. Annie Tupworthy would never suffer another beating from her husband.

Annie’s gaze widened at the sight of Sapphire’s face. She bore an astounding resemblance to the young mistress of Lytton, whom she’d once seen from a distance. Then she saw the beauty of Sapphire’s eyes and, lost herself in the purple haze of their depths. Her body became as light as air and she seemed to float on a sea of pale blue, her body cradled in its gentle waves. There was neither pain nor discomfort, and she could hear nothing but the sound of her voice. It was soft, like a moonbeam touching the furled flower of a lily. Little by little the flower began to open, its satiny interior pure and lovely. Deep in the heart of the flower was a tiny curled up creature.

Annie’s love reached out and surrounded it. The creature opened its eyes and gazed at her. Tears trembled in her eyes, but she couldn’t understand why because she was surrounded by beauty and felt so happy. Her tears fell into the lily and the creature was washed gently into her waiting arms.

Opening her eyes, she gazed at the child Sapphire had placed in her arms, then up at the woman who’d safely delivered him. She was wearing her veil. Annie couldn’t recollect what her face had looked like. She had no record of time passing. Possessed of a sense of tranquility she hadn’t experienced for a long time, she smiled through her tears. ‘I cannot thank you enough.’ Her eyes slid back to her child, who nestled comfortably against her breast. ‘I’d be honored if you’d choose a name for him. It must be a secret name, for my husband will not countenance any but his own for our son.’

‘Call him, Carlisle.’

‘That was my father’s name,’ Annie said in astonishment.

‘Then it’s a fitting name for your son. Let him wear it with pride.’ Sapphire stood when she heard the sound of a carriage coming to a halt. Bad new travelled fast it seemed, for the Wesley preacher was with the servants, his face grave.

‘My dear, Mrs. Tupworthy.’ The words slipped unctuously from his mouth as if they’d been anointed with oil. ‘There has been an accident.’ He looked down at the child, spread his tiny legs apart with his thumbs and examined his gender. ‘It’s fortunate you’ve birthed a son. The Tupworthy name will survive.’ He gazed at her for a moment, saw his words had been understood and added, as if it were a bygone conclusion. ‘You’ll name your son after his father, of course?’

Annie felt like smiling, but under the circumstances didn’t dare. Glancing at Sapphire, she said almost defiantly. ‘My son shall be called Carlisle, after his grandfather.’

The reverend’s glance became speculative. ‘It’s a handsome name for a handsome child. I’ll give him my blessing before I deliver my sermon to the villagers. The reverend fell to his knees and his voice took on a dramatic cadence. ‘All in this dwelling shall bow before the Lord and thank him for the child’s safe deliverance.’

All in the dwelling did, except for Sapphire and her maid. Everyone saw them leave except Annie, whose sense of freedom at hearing the squire was dead was so overwhelming it caused her to burst into tears.

The reverend was not surprised when Sapphire left. Her reputation had preceded her from London. Her presence in the district had become gossip. It was
she
who caused the butter to become rancid,
she
who stopped hens from laying and incited fermentation in the udders of cows. John Wesley’s teachings had alerted the reverend that the devil took different guises. He’d convinced himself, and most of the villagers, that Sapphire was a witch.

Up on the chimney stack, the raven cocked its head to one side and gazed with bead-bright eyes at the departing horses. It settled down to wait. From its vantage point, it could see the ivy-covered stone cross on the village green and the stream that fed the village pond.

Two children sat upon the stone that supported the ducking stool. People came from their homes. Dressed in their Sunday best, they congregated upon the green with an air of expectancy.

Presently the door of the cottage opened and the Reverend Pollock came out and mounted his horse. The green was but a short way, but he rode through the crowd, aware of the awe his appearance brought. He was a big man, handsome, with a deep resonant voice that commanded attention.

Reverend Pollock was thinking of Annie Tupworthy. It was unfortunate her infant had been delivered by the sorceress. The boy would need the help of the Lord, and strong discipline to keep the devil at bay. A strap across the buttocks at regular intervals would soon whip the devil from his soul, and infuse him with a healthy respect for the Lord’s anger. He’d long been seeking a wife of piety and means. Annie Tupworthy was comfortably off. She and her children would need a strong man to guide them.

When he reached his appointed place beneath the cross, he smiled expansively at the crowd, then waited until the murmuring voices died to an expectant hush. He threw out his arms in a dramatic gesture—knowing he resembled a crucifix—and sent a fierce gaze searching amongst the crowd. ‘The devil has sent his agent among you,’ he began, his glance settling on a raw-boned girl with a vacant smile. ‘The agent arrived in a carriage of fire, her nostrils smoking with the brimstone of hell. She’s sheltered amongst a nest of vipers—and that nest is called Lytton House.’

As a shocked murmur raced through the crowd, Nellie gazed at the raven on the roof of a cottage. She gave a slack-mouthed smile.

The raven cocked its head to one side in a listening attitude, its eyes fixed on the figure addressing the crowd.

Willow was keeping the earl company in the drawing room when Gerard returned to the house. She’d just finished reading the last chapter of
Robinson Crusoe
when Ambrose murmured. ‘Edwina tells me you play the harp. Would you play something for me?’

Sending a servant to fetch her harp, she smiled at him. ‘Do not expect too much, dearest father. I was taught by a peasant woman who lived near Coringal, and can play only a few Irish tunes.’

Ambrose took her hand in his. ‘Tell me about Coringal. Was life hard for you there?’

‘Indeed no.’ Astonishment came into her eyes. ‘Coringal is a beautiful house, smaller than Lytton and a trifle dilapidated, but just as welcoming. It’s situated in wild country, with towering hills behind, and mists so dense that strangers mistake it for rain.’ A soft smile touched her lips. ‘Each morning was a miracle, as it is here. Sometimes, the grass was so green and the air so soft, it made me want to cry. James Langland, who was my tutor, said it was because I had an affinity with the ethereal things of life.’

Taking her harp from the servant she ran her fingers gently over the strings. ‘Often the sound of the harp touches my heart in exactly the same way. It reminds me of Coringal, and can make me cry. I’ll endeavor not to do so today.’

The note she coaxed from the instrument reminded her of a song about a soldier. ‘A soldier is dying,’ she murmured, ‘and he’s remembering the love he left behind.’ It was a sad song, the soldier beseeching God to let him live long enough to say good-bye to his true love. Eventually, she appeared to him in a dream, and the soldier died with a smile on his lips.

Her eyes were damp when she finished, her smile tremulous. ‘James always teased me about that song. He said the girl probably married someone else, and forgot all about the soldier.’ She gave a light, lilting laugh. ‘James said I was a romantic, and destined to fall in love with a man who showed me tenderness.’ Her voice trailed off when Gerard came into the room and smiled at her.

Although Gerard had heard her words, and noted the yearning in her voice, he didn’t intend to tease her with them. ‘I heard a little of your song as I came along the corridor.’

She looked lovely in a gown of pale lilac over a darker flounced petticoat. Her lace cap was tied under her pointed chin, and was decorated with ribbons and flowers. He longed to pull it from her head and watch her glorious hair tumble about her shoulders in perfumed disarray as her face dimpled into a smile.

The ginger kitten he’d given her the week before, its neck adorned with a lilac ribbon, played at her feet. If his father hadn’t been with her, he would have drawn her gently towards him and kissed her sweet mouth into a murmuring honeyed response. ‘It was a charming song,’ he murmured, trying to hide the desire in his eyes. ‘If you’d humor me by singing it again, I’ll give you some news concerning James Langland.’

‘You’d make me sing for the news?’

He enjoyed the flirtatious little pout she gave when her fingers plucked a shimmering note from the harp, and decided to step up his campaign to win her heart. The trouble was, he rarely seemed to find her alone, as if everyone else in the house conspired to monopolise her time. Her beautiful eyes gazed at him now through seductively long lashes. ‘The song is too sad to sing again. I shall choose another.’ The grin she gave him was her totally captivating. ‘This a song about a man who loved his sweetheart’s voice so much that he confined her within in a cage and made her sing all day. She turned into a lark, escaped, and flew away from her prison of love.’ Mischief colored her eyes. ‘I’ll expect you to join in the chorus.’